The Early Flight – Don’t Blame Me, I’m Exhausted Poetry

The early flight and bad poetry - www.alliepottswrites.com
(Simon and Garfunkel’s Sound of Silence, for whatever reason, was stuck in my head this morning. That song is beautiful poetry. The following is not)
Hello airport lobby, my old friend
I’ve come to wait in you again
Because demands for security screening
Brought me here when I should be sleeping
And now I’m sitting, staring at the backs of empty chairs.
No one cares.
While I wait, for the early flight
I don’t know why I booked this flight
The sun hasn’t shone its light.
While I wish I could return to bed
I look for someplace I might rest my head
But then I cringe at the sound of the intercom
Calling Tom –
Please return, your flight’s departing
And then I glanced at the corridor
A dozen people, maybe more
People shuffling like walking dead
People moving like limbs are lead
People whose current style is a photo they’ll never share
No one dares
Make pre-flight contact
Sigh, I thought, it’s a look I too well know
As the crowd began to grow
I turned my gaze back to my gate
How I wished I’d left on a different date
But my wishes, like those for extra sleep
Were interrupted, by the speaker’s bleep
And the people yawned and swayed
As they continued on their way
And a sign flashed it was time for boarding
Then I saw a line quickly forming
And I knew, that the time for complaining was done…
…at least, this one
So began my day, with an early flight
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#ShortStory Saturday’s Flash Fiction Fun with The Writer’s Toolbox – Part Eight

I love to use The Writer’s Toolbox (affiliate link) and its creative games, even if they always cause me to end on a cliff-hanger. Unfortunately, all games must come to an end. While I may choose to revisit these characters one day and continue their story, the following is a conclusion to this particular series.

Once again I would like to thank Jamie Cat Callan of the Writer’s Toolbox for sponsoring the original posts, in spite of them going a little dark, and for creating such a fun and easy tool for priming the creative process. 

May you all have a safe and happy new year.

To read from the beginning, visit the first post here.


A Writers Toolbox #ShortStory - conclusion - www.alliepottswrites.com

An ear-piercing squeal jarred Margaret back from the darkness. As another dose of adrenaline spiked her bloodstream, her vision cleared enough to see the unguarded doorway. Thoughts were difficult to string together. Margaret didn’t need them. Animalistic instinct took over.

She could sense an overwhelming pain as she pulled herself out of the chair, but it was as if the pain belonged to someone else. One foot dragged behind the other as she crossed the room. She barely noticed. A man’s voice complained about a sticky wheel in the background. It was all she needed to fuel the urge to get away.

The knob turned in her hand, opening to a kitchen staffed by many who’d long since learned to turn a blind eye to the goings-on of the back room. All it would take one to raise the alarm. Though it was empty, she dropped to the ground. The brown tile floor bit into her knees as she crawled through the narrow pathways separating the stainless counter-tops.

She glanced over her shoulder. Her captors had not yet noticed her disappearance. A trail of red marked her progress. Margaret risked rising up into a crouch as she looked around the kitchen for anything that might aid in her escape.

Aprons marred with spots of gray from contact with grease hung from a line of hooks on the wall. A pair of rags draped over the edge of an industrial sink within easy reach.

She grabbed the rags scented thick with bleach and tied one around her largest wound. Margaret tried used the other to wipe away the trail leading to her but only managed to create a pink blur. Wrapping the rest of her body with one of the aprons, she made her way toward the swinging door of the kitchen’s exit, hoping the disguise would be enough to keep her from being noticed.

A foursome blocked her final path to freedom.

One of the four spotted her. “Daisy?” His face drained of color. “You were here this whole time?”

“Out of my way Bill,” Margaret growled. Muddled thoughts continued to swirl, forbidding her from letting her guard down. It didn’t matter if he was her brother. If he was here, he could be one of them. She couldn’t afford to lose her edge now. Not when she was so close.

One of the others raced to her side, pulling her into a crushing embrace that made her eyes water. “I thought I lost you.” He relaxed his hold. “I mean, I thought we lost you.”

The warmth of his arms was unbearable. “Not you too, Larry,” Margaret whimpered as tears filled her vision. “Let me go.” She fought against his hold as a new sort of pain entered into the mix.

Her brother’s best friend released her with wide eyes. Larry’s gaze dropped to the apron, now spotted with pink as well as gray. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He took another step back. “I’d never–I’m not–”

Light spilled into the dining room as the kitchen door swung open once more. Margaret didn’t have to turn to know that a large man stood on the other side. She screamed as she attempted to push past Larry, only to be caught by her brother as her legs gave out.

“Donald.” The woman standing closest to Bill smiled, stepping between them and the man. “If you are here, does that mean Frank is close by?” The woman’s voice was smoke and honey. “Ah, there’s my favorite artist.”

“Laurie?” A voice that would haunt Margaret’s dreams, spoke up from behind the large man. “And here I thought you still held hard feelings.”

“Tough day at the office?”

The man shrugged. “I’ve had better. Speaking of work,” He nodded in Margaret’s direction. “I’ve got a delivery to make, but if that past business is behind us… Afterward it can be like before.”

“Oh, I’ve learned a lot since then,” the woman practically purred. She reached into her purse and rummaged around until she pulled out a tube of lip gloss. She coated her lips in slow meaningful strokes as she crossed the room before pulling Frank’s head down to meet his lips with hers.

Frank broke the kiss first. “Now that’s my kind of hello.”

Laurie shrugged. “If you say so.” She walked to Donald and kissed him on the cheek. “I choose to think of it as goodbye.” She returned to Bill’s side.

Frank grabbed at his throat as bloated hives broke out across purpling skin. Donald scratched his cheek where Laurie kissed him, then clawed at his pockets before similarly turning red followed by blue.

“Looking for this?” Laurie asked brandishing a tube in one hand as both men dropped to the ground. Gone was the warmth from her voice. “I keep a package of peanuts in my purse, to keep my metabolism up while dieting. Good for me, but bad for those with allergies.” She let the injection tool taken from Donald’s pocket fall to the ground and crushed it under a shoe. She looked down at the men gasping for breath on the floor. “The next time either of you see Leslie, be sure to tell him I can too act.”

Returning her attention back to the group she smiled. “It is time we all enjoyed a change of scenery, don’t you think?”

Margaret was reminded of their childhood as her older brother scooped her up and carried her out of the diner. Police cars raced by in the direction of Leslie’s penthouse. She’d traded more than cooking tips at the class in Duluth. Her lips turned up as she allowed the darkness take over once more. And now, the scenery wasn’t the only thing that would be changing.

An interview with my muse – a fiction challenge

Diana over at Myths of the Mirror challenged writers to interview their muse after finding that hers had recently outsourced the job to a merciless mercenary for hire/part-time healthy life style disciplinarian. But upon accepting the challenge, I found my muse somewhat difficult to track down…


A fiction challenge and the investigation into the mysterious disappearance of my muse - www.alliepottswrites.comThe air was heavy with procrastination as I heard the door open behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to recognize her perfume, a mix of earth and chocolate spice. It could only be Moka. Moka Chino. She spelled her name with a k rather than a ch. She thought it gave her an extra shot of originality. I’d never had the heart to tell her I thought it made me question whether her head was on right.

She sashayed into my office as if it hadn’t been years since we last met. Though I tried to keep my expression neutral, I couldn’t help drinking in her appearance. “What brings you to the old neighborhood?” I asked as she removed a pair nutmeg shaded glasses, revealing mascara stained eyes underneath.

“It’s Latte. She’s missing.”

Latte was Moka’s cousin. Tall and skinny, though just as smooth. I’d met her at one of Moka’s parties and we’d spent the next hours in easy conversation. Latte’s side of the family wasn’t nearly as rich and she’d offered to help with the occasional job or two for whatever change I could spare, which was never much.

It was worth the expense. Her contributions might cause me the occasional heartburn, but they never failed to get results. She was reliable that way. It wasn’t like her to disappear without leaving a trace.

“So, can you help me find her?”

A lock of white slipped from her frothy up-do. I fought the urge to inhale her scent, as I helped sweep it back into place. She was bad for my health. Some might argue, toxic. I knew it. It was another reason I’d kept my distance. But I also knew she didn’t need to ask. Moka was someone I could never say no to. The problem was, she knew it too.

Latte spent her time between gigs in the editorial department of a local publishing house. It would be my first stop.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” I said to Latte’s boss, B.K. Caffé, a huge man with a complexion as dark as his current expression and crushing arms.  I extended my hand.

He didn’t take it. “You’re late.”

“I apologize. I was given the wrong directions in reception. Has anyone ever told you guys that this place is difficult to navigate?”

“You said this was about Latte?”

“Yeah, her cousin says she hasn’t seen her in awhile. Looked worried.”

“Yeah, well I haven’t seen her lately either. Now I’ve got senior management roasting my beans. I’ve had to bring my sister’s kid on board just to deal with the slush.” His scowl deepened as he glared as something or someone behind me. “But now I’m beginning to wonder if I was better off.”

A kid who must have traded his diaper in for an overpriced suit stood there. From the slicked back hair to golden pinkie ring, he could pass for an extra in the Wolf of Wall Street. He marched across the room like I wasn’t there. “We need to talk about my assignment.”

“Not now.”

“But Uncle B, I really don’t think you are recognizing all the benefits I bring to the table. I should be in charge out there.”

“And yet I still don’t have a publish-ready novel from you, now do I.”

“If you’d only listen -”

“We can talk later. Now do the job I’m paying you to do.”

The kid left, slamming the office door behind him. “Kid thinks he’s bulletproof,” B.K. said more to himself than to me, shaking his head.

“So Latte.” I took out my notebook, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand. “You saw her last…”

“Weeks ago. We sent a draft off to beta readers and a crew went out celebrating.”

“Including you?”

“Not my scene.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve been told I can be a bit of a buzz kill.” Someone knocked on his door. B.K. looked at his watch. “Are we done? I have a schedule to keep.”

“One last question. You wouldn’t happen to know where they went to celebrate, would you?”

“Where else: Quotable Potables.”

I was familiar with the hot spot. Signs of wear on the bar’s exterior were beginning to show. Even so, it still maintained a stable of regular customers thanks to its welcoming atmosphere. I made my way to the back where a makeshift karaoke stage, stood. It was also where I knew I’d find the Pinot Sisters.

They were seated at a nearby table, ready to launch into song the moment the equipment came online. I pulled out a chair and handed them a picture. “I’m looking for a gal named Nila Latte. You didn’t happen to see her here recently, did you?”

Both girls had the kind of legs that made you want to laugh or weep but were just as known for their bubbly personalities. Usually, the trick was getting them to stop talking, but neither offered a word. “Yes, you did.” I tapped the photo again. “A gal like that, on your turf. Yeah, you noticed.”

“We don’t remember.” Nora, the red head, pushed the photo back at me. “Okay?”

“You don’t remember seeing her, or you don’t remember what happened that night?”

Gio, the blonde, began to sweat, “She was iced!”

Nora covered her sister’s mouth. “We don’t know that.” Her gaze swiveled around the room as she looked for who else might have overheard Gio’s outburst. “Really. We don’t. Most nights are a complete blur. Ask anyone.”

It was clear that the girls were spooked and weren’t going to tell me anything more, but they’d given me an idea as to who to talk to next. I left the bar and took a turn down Memory Lane. I’d get to the bottom of this story.

It’s my job.

I’m a writer.


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